


How Far Bruce Will Go to Show Clark He Loves Him

by LilLayneeLoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League (2017), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Clark Kent, Time Travel, Violence, i make my own rules, tw blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilLayneeLoo/pseuds/LilLayneeLoo
Summary: Bruce can't seem to find the words to talk to Clark...so instead of talking, he shows him.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 140
Collections: DC Universe





	How Far Bruce Will Go to Show Clark He Loves Him

**Author's Note:**

> I drew some inspiration from Vibe on the CW show The Flash for the Speed Force Extrapolator. Cisco uses a similar thing. I've drawn from multiple storylines to complete this work, but I don't really care. Hopefully it doesn't ruin it for anyone who is more diehard than I.

“Clark, we need to talk,” Bruce said, closing the door behind his partner as he stepped into the manor.

“Is everything okay?” Clark asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Bruce said. “You didn’t. But I just need to say a few things.”

Clark nodded, but he still looked nervous.

“Come into the sitting room?”

Bruce took Clark’s jacket and hung it up, leading him into a large room with a blazing fire. They sat down together on the leather couch. Bruce could sense that Clark was tense, so he laid his hand across his partner’s shoulders. It seemed to help Clark calm down a little, but he still seemed on edge.

“Clark,” he said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not going to break up with you. You can relax.”

Clark didn’t, really, but Bruce gave him credit for trying. Clark and Superman were two different people in certain regards, and Clark was naturally a very anxious person.

“I’ve been thinking about our relationship recently, and how much I enjoy officially being with you. I’m really glad we told the League, and I’m really lucky to have you. You’re an incredible man.”

Clark looked taken aback. 

“Are you...alright?” Clark asked. Bruce winced. It stung, but he knew that it was justified.

“Well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about,” Bruce said. “I’ve realized that, especially recently, I’m not the best at communicating my feelings...or anything, for that matter.”

Clark frowned. “Bruce, that’s not your fault...it’s kind of just who you are.”

“That may be true,” Bruce said. “But I know everything about you...I ask about your day and you give me an answer that goes beyond ‘good.’ I’ve heard about your childhood, your family, and you’ve told me all that you know about Krypton. You’ve told me endless stories about your life, from saving that school bus as a child, to what it was like moving to Metropolis for University…”

Clark took Bruce’s hands.

“But I haven’t really told you anything,” Bruce continued, squeezing Clark gently. “It’s hard for me, to open up, and even though I trust you more than any other person in the entire world, I still find it difficult to find the words to tell you about myself, to tell you who I am. We’ve found each other so late into our careers...I should have endless stories to tell and I do, but I just can’t ever find the words to tell them. You’re good at that kind of thing and I’m not, and I just wanted to take tonight to acknowledge this shortcoming of mine, and apologize for it. I’m sorry I can’t be an open book with you. I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything about my past.”

Clark finally spoke.

“You know, it’s only officially been a few months, but I've loved you for so long that there is  _ nothing _ you could ever tell me about yourself that would make me feel any differently about you, Bruce.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “And you’re so patient with me. You’re with me despite this major flaw… but tonight, it’s different. Tonight I want to change that.”

“You’re going to talk to me about yourself?” Clark asked, shifting on the couch.

“Not exactly,” Bruce said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal sphere. It shone in the firelight, and Clark could faintly see numbers etched onto the side of it. He frowned at Bruce, who smiled tenderly.

“Barry calls it the Speed Force Extrapolator,” he said. “Basically, it allows non-speedsters to access the Speed Force and travel in time.”

Clark’s mouth fell open a fraction as he looked at the device in Bruce’s hand.

“I can’t find the words,” Bruce said, tossing the device from one hand to the other. “And I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to. But with this, I can show you who I am.”

“Bruce,” Clark started. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, and would love to know the most intimate parts of who you are, I’m not sure it’s wise to go back in time…”

“Barry briefed me on the logistics of the Speed Force when he gave this to me--told me what I could and couldn’t do. We can’t change anything, no matter how much we want to. Barry’s made that mistake before. I’ve already used it a few times, but I didn’t know how to tell you. Like I said, I’m really awful at this.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?” Clark asked skeptically. “What if you get stuck?”

“I inform Barry every time I go through of where I am going. I always return moments after I’ve left, so he knows that if he doesn’t hear from me almost immediately, he needs to access the Speed Force and come find me.”

“So tonight…” 

“I’ve told him everywhere I intend to take you, and at what point in time. If we need him, he’ll be there. Besides, this hasn’t failed me yet, so I trust it.”

Clark was nodding slowly.

“I suppose there isn’t really anything I can say to dispute that plan…”

“I hope not,” Bruce said. “I really want to do this, for you, and for  _ us. _ I want to be able to communicate with you better, and I think that if I can get the initial explanations of my life out of the way, the rest will come much easier.”

“You’re sure?” Clark said. “I don’t want to push you.”

“I’m sure,” Bruce said. “It’s crazy just how sure I am. What have you done to me, Kent? Loving you has made me a sap."

Clark chuckled and wrapped Bruce up in a hug.

“When do we leave?” he asked, his voice muffled by the fabric of Bruce’s sweater.

He heard a beep and sort of  _ whooshing _ noise. Startled, he pulled away from Bruce and looked toward the fireplace. There was a large, almost metallic looking gateway, emitting random bursts of electricity. Clark’s body was screaming that this was not a good idea, but as Bruce stood and offered him a hand, his racing heart settled a little.

“Right now,” Bruce said. “If you’re ready.”

Clark grasped his hand and stood. Still intertwined, the two men stepped into the portal.

~

Crime Alley was as dark and damp as Clark had pictured it.

When they had emerged on the other side of the portal, Clark immediately knew where they were. He had figured they would end up here at some point, so Bruce didn’t have to explain. 

The sky was grey, the city was quiet, and they were standing 20 feet away from a man, a woman, and a young boy. 

“You know,” Bruce said, quietly. “I’ve come back here so many times in the last year, just to see them. I don’t remember much of my life before this moment, which Alfred attributes to PTSD, so anytime I want to see their faces, I have to watch them die.”

Clark swallowed. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a gift,” Bruce continued. “But it’s a curse as well. It’s hard to witness over and over again, but it also reminds me who I am, and why the hell I put on that damn suit and go out every night.”

He paused.

“Wow, I was right, this is easier already.”

Clark smiled at him, but the moment was cut off.

From around the corner came a young man, gun pointed at Thomas Wayne. Bruce reached up and hastily pushed Clark flat against the wall.

“That’s him,” Bruce said, quietly. “That’s Joe Chill, the man who murdered my parents.”

Bruce’s hand was still against Clark’s chest, and Clark instinctually brought his own hand up to cover Bruce’s. 

A minute or so passed, few words exchanged between Joe Chill and Thomas Wayne, even fewer between Clark and Bruce. Suddenly, Bruce turned his head, and Clark wouldn’t have needed the sound of the gun to know that Thomas had just been shot. 

Martha was screaming, and Bruce’s eyes found Clark’s. Clark squeezed his wrist and met his gaze. 

“I don’t know why I keep coming back here,” Bruce said, his face contorted in pain. “It’s so difficult to watch. It’s like a mantra that insists I’m alone in the world.”

Clark opened his mouth to remind him that he wasn’t alone anymore, but Bruce said it for him.

“But this time, you’re here, and it’s easier. I’m not alone. I haven’t been for a few months now.”

Clark tilted his forehead toward Bruce’s, and they stood in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry you have to watch my parents die, but you can’t really know me until you truly understand that night.”

The gun went off behind Bruce again, and Clark heard the scattering of pearls as Martha Wayne collapsed. Now, the young boy’s screams mixed with the sound of sirens as the Gotham Police arrived on scene. Faint footsteps were barely audible as Joe Chill made his escape.

Clark watched as a police officer stepped out of one of the cruisers and ran immediately to Bruce, wrapping his arms around the crying child and carrying him away from the bodies of his parents.

As young Bruce’s cries faded, Clark turned his attention back to the man in front of him.

“I don’t know what I would have done without him,” Bruce admitted, his gaze following the officer. “He got me away from their bodies, knowing I had already seen way more than any eight year old should. He called Alfred for me, knowing that I needed a familiar face in front of me as fast as possible. He was gentle, calm, and he was  _ kind _ .” 

“You were only eight,” Clark whispered. He felt ashamed at his reaction. He had known what had happened to Bruce. When they first started working together, Clark had scoured newspapers at the Planet to find out whatever he could about the mysterious Batman. He had stumbled across Thomas and Martha’s death at that time, but hadn’t really known what to say. Now, years later, he still felt at a loss for words. He wished he knew how to comfort Bruce.

“I was only eight,” Bruce said, nodding. “Sometimes I wonder how I recovered. I recall exactly how I felt sitting where he is right now. I felt hopeless and lost. That boy over there, at eight years old, is wishing he was the one who had died, because his Mom and Dad were everything he had, and they were gone.”

Bruce wasn’t crying, but Clark was. They stayed in the alley longer than necessary, watching as paramedics feebly attempted to resuscitate Thomas and Martha, eventually giving in and clearing their bodies from the street. 

“Chill didn’t really get away,” Bruce said. “The chief found him a few hours after Alfred showed up, but I still vowed that when I was old enough, I would enact revenge. I vowed to  _ kill  _ him. But when the moment came, and Batman paid him a visit in prison, I decided he wasn’t worth it. I didn’t want to become him, so I didn’t. My methods are…unconventional, but I will never deliberately take a life.”

Clark gently pressed his lips against Bruce’s, a few stray tears falling gently from his eyes.

“You are  _ nothing _ like him, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce nodded, pulling the extrapolator out of his pocket.

“Let’s go. We’ve got a lot to see.”

~

“Where are we now?” Clark asked, looking around. They were in the woods somewhere, and what appeared to be a clearing was nearby.

“This is behind the manor,” Bruce said, quietly. “Through the trees, in that clearing, that’s where my parents’ graves are.”

“You’ve never shown me their graves,” Clark murmured back. It was true. Every year for the last 10 years of their friendship, Clark had come to visit Bruce on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. He knew it was still hard for Bruce, and so he had never pushed him; hadn’t ever even asked him what he did to remember them. 

That question was answered as two figures made their way toward the clearing. Clark and Bruce were out of their sight, but close enough that Clark could see the pain in the younger Bruce’s eyes.

“How old were you here?” Clark asked.

“Twenty-three,” Bruce said. “This was the 15th anniversary of their death. Most years I went to visit them alone, to talk to them, to be with them on the day I missed them most, but every five years, Alfred came too.”

Clark nodded and watched the young Bruce lay a beautiful arrangement on a large grey stone. He couldn’t see in detail what the grave said, but Clark didn’t think that was the point of this trip.

“This time is important,” Bruce continued, as the younger version of him wrapped his arms around Alfred. “This is the first time I really let Alfred in. This is the first time I really acknowledged that while I lost a mother and father that night, Alfred lost his two best friends. He was loyal to my parents not because they paid him, but because they treated him well. They gave him a house and he made it a  _ home _ , and when they died, he honoured them by taking care of me. This was the first time I truly appreciated his loss and commitment.”

Clark wanted to hear what they were saying, but Bruce had brought them far enough away from the actual grave that he didn’t feel right listening in. Instead, he focused on the Bruce that was right next to him.

“I want to take you to see their grave sometime,” Bruce said, solemnly. “But I can’t promise it will be anytime soon. I can’t explain it, but it’s a private place for me. I don’t have the courage, yet. It’s not you, it’s not a lack of trust, it’s a lack of strength. It took me 15 years to let Alfred in, I just need time.”

Clark nodded. “You don’t have to rush these things for me. I want to know you, but I want to do it at your own pace.”

“I’m grateful for your patience, Clark,” Bruce said. “I can’t express how much it means to me. I haven’t dated anyone in a while partially because it’s so hard to be intimate with someone who doesn’t know about my alter ego, but mostly because I’ve never been able to let anyone in enough for them to stay. But you’ve stayed, and now I’m starting to feel ready to let you in.”

Clark pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s cheek, pulling his arms around his back. “I’m not going anywhere, if you’ll have me,” he whispered.

Bruce turned and met his lips, reaching into his pocket as he did. The portal opened, and without a word, Bruce dragged Clark by his hand into another time.

~

They stepped out onto a large stained deck, Bruce pressing Clark immediately against the wall behind them.

Clark looked around. They had landed beside an elegant building, surrounded by blossoming trees of pale pink and ruby, tapping against dark, curved, tiered gables. Based on the foliage and framework, Clark guessed they were somewhere in Japan. 

“Look inside for a moment, through the glass to your left,” Bruce said. 

Clark did. There was a large black mat, surrounded by several stuffed bodices. Sophisticated aged cherry wood cases lined the walls of the room, glass panels protecting ancient looking artifacts: vases, swords, preserved plants, fragments of rock and building, and small trinkets that Clark was unable to identify. In the middle of the room, a very handsome, black haired man was training with an elderly Japanese man, whom Clark could only assume was Bruce’s sensei. 

Clark focused on young Bruce’s face for a moment, admiring his look of determination. He watched as Bruce attacked one of the bodices, delivering blows with exceptional skill and accuracy. Clark was impressed as he returned his gaze to the man next to him.

“I was twenty-four when I started training with Yoru Sensei,” he explained. “I had been travelling the world in search of teachers, men and women who could help me become as physically strong and agile as possible. Yoru Sensei was the only man who made a real impression on me outside of the combat he taught. He valued loyalty, bravery, and honour high above physical strength.”

Clark nodded, sneaking another glimpse at young Bruce.

“You’ve always been skilled,” Clark said, a faint smile on his face. “Clearly. Watching you fight then, and seeing you fight now… 24 year old you was incredible, but you today...you’re pretty much unstoppable.”

Bruce couldn’t help the light blush that crept onto his cheeks.

“I will say, combat was the one thing that I had to work hard for. I put my body through so much, trying to become physically stronger than anyone else… Yoru Sensei taught me, though, that the occasional defeat was inevitable, and provided opportunity for humility and growth. He taught me the importance of reflection, and the necessity of practice.”

“So basically, he’s the reason we all have to sit through your debriefing after every mission,” Clark laughed.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You laugh, but how many times have we been able to optimize an approach because we’ve had those meetings?”

“I know, Bruce,” Clark smiled. “I’m just teasing you.”

Bruce smiled back and sighed, looking up at the impressive architecture the dojo boasted. 

“This place taught me a lot of things that I still carry with me today,” Bruce said, quietly. “I owe it a lot. And that man, Yoru Sensei...there are so many things I wish I could tell him today.”

“What happened to him?” Clark asked.

“He passed away a few years after I left Japan,” he said, solemnly. “I had a flight planned to return to visit him, but his daughter called me a few months before my departure to inform me of his passing. That was a difficult year for me. Besides Alfred, Yoru was the closest thing I had to a father in my life.”

Clark placed a gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder, smiling softly. “I’m sure he knew, Bruce, how grateful you were for all that he did.”

“Even if he didn’t in life, I hope he does in death,” Bruce said. He gestured to the building. “The dojo still stands today, and is run primarily by his son-in-law. While Wayne Enterprises has funds, this building will stand for any students who pass through its doors. I wish I could contribute more than money, but that’s the best that I can do to honour him--keep his legacy alive.”

Clark stepped closer to Bruce and leaned his head against his shoulder. Bruce wrapped an arm around Clark and pulled him tight to his side. They stood in that position for a moment, staring out into the rows upon rows of Cherry Blossom trees, at peace together under the sun. 

Clark felt Bruce’s arm shift as he dug into his pocket, retrieving the little silver ball.

“Let’s go, handsome,” Bruce said, grabbing Clark’s hand and tugging him gently toward another portal. 

Bruce rarely used his pet names for Clark, so he couldn’t help but smile as he followed him into the next memory.

~

They entered the Batcave. 

It was still the same size and shape, but there were barely any furnishings, only a few scraps of technology, and Clark noticed that the Batmobile was not parked in its usual spot. He could only assume that they had come to the very  _ early  _ Batcave.

The cave was dim where they were standing, so Bruce did not immediately force Clark to step into any shadows. They did not speak, rather both watched in silence as Alfred and Bruce walked down a very long spiral staircase.

_ I wonder when the elevator was put in _ , Clark thought to himself. He turned to ask, but Bruce was watching his younger self rather intently, so he stayed silent.

“I know it’s dangerous, Alfred,” young Bruce was saying. “But I’m doing it anyway. I promised them I would.”

Clark could see that young Bruce was dressed very plainly; a fairly tight, black long-sleeved shirt, black slim-fit pants, black socks, and heavy-looking black boots. His hands and face were bare, but not for long.

Clark watched him pull a mask up to his head, sliding it over his short black hair. They were difficult to spot in the darkness, but Clark could make out a smaller version of Bruce’s characteristic bat ears, identifying the article as an amateur copy of his now famous cowl.

“Tell me,” Clark whispered softly into the darkness. “That you are  _ not _ going to go on patrol with no armour and no weapons.”

“Yes, I am,” Bruce said. Clark could hear the smirk in his voice. “I was twenty-six, had just finished extensive training in over 8 different countries. In my own mind, I was invincible. I was determined to be a dangerous vigilante, to invoke fear in people’s hearts and minds, and ward off the criminals in Gotham. I had been out before, but only in a ski mask. This was the night I debuted the bat persona.”

Clark returned his gaze to young Bruce as he slipped out of the cave. Alfred remained in place for a few minutes, muttering to himself about the dangers of a young man trying to stop crime.

“What would Doctor Wayne think about this?” Alfred was saying. The question made him pause for a moment, then to himself he said, “Actually, I do not doubt that he would be incredibly proud of the man his son is becoming.”

Clark watched as Alfred turned on his heel and began the long ascent to the manor. Bruce and he stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the now empty cave. Clark looked to him, and saw that tears had formed in Bruce’s eyes. He didn’t, however, let them fall.

“I was gone, obviously,” Bruce said. “I never knew that he felt that way, that my father would have been proud of me. I wonder if he would say the same today.”

Clark once again found himself wrapped up in Bruce’s arms. “I know he would,” Clark said. “You’re an amazing person, who has done amazing things in service for other people. You save lives, you stop crime, and you ask for nothing in return. You are not the shallow playboy you sometimes have to pretend to be--you’re a brave, strong, and fiercely compassionate man.”

Bruce squeezed him just a little bit harder.

“I’m proud of you,” Clark continued. “I know Alfred’s proud of you too, and I guarantee that if he could see you now, your father would be proud of you too.”

Bruce reached into his pocket once again, and clicked a little switch, his eyes still wet with tears. He grasped Clark’s hand and, this time without a single word, led him into the portal.

~

Clark was incredibly grateful that Bruce had been holding his hand; if he hadn’t, he undoubtedly would have fallen over the railing on the platform and into the colossal vat below him. Bruce pulled him back quickly, wrapping his arms protectively around Clark’s shoulder. Clark heard Bruce’s heart pounding incredibly rapidly, and held him back to let him know that he was okay. Bruce’s breaths were shaky, but Clark didn’t say anything.

There were railings everywhere, and as Clark found not only his footing but his bearings as well, he realized they were in some sort of factory or storage center. There were large basins on the floor below them, the platforms around the edge of the building narrow and divided by columns. Clark couldn’t identify what liquid filled the basin closest to them, but based on the labelling, assumed that each basin contained the same substance. It was bubbling slightly, but didn’t seem to be giving off any heat. He had no explanation.

A shout and scuffling behind him distracted him from his observations, as two figures emerged from a door across the large room. Bruce pulled him behind a large pillar, and gestured for Clark to peer around it. Bruce’s face looked pained. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head against the concrete.

“This moment,” Bruce said. “This moment is one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Clark looked at him briefly, but quickly returned his gaze to the figures. One was Batman, that was obvious. The other, however, was unidentifiable, dressed from head to toe in red and black.

“Not a single soul knows about this Clark,” Bruce whispered, closing his eyes in what could only be shame. “I’ve never been able to tell anyone, and I fear that you’ll think differently of me once you’ve seen it.”

Clark swallowed, and kept his focus on Batman and the red figure. They weren’t exactly battling, rather it seemed that Batman was pursuing the other man who continuously moved away from him. He could hear the red figure shouting “Don’t come closer!” as he approached a railing above one of the vats. “Don’t come any closer or...I’ll jump!”

Clark heard Bruce take a shaky breath behind him, but could not peel his eyes away from the scene in front of him.

Despite the man’s words, Batman took another step forward, aiming a punch at the red figure’s torso. His swing hit its target, just as the other man stepped one foot up onto the railing. The hit knocked the man off balance, and sent him over the railing.

Clark heard the man’s piercing cry as he fell, silenced only by the liquid in the basin as it filled his mouth and dragged him under.

Clark’s hand had instinctively covered his mouth in horror. He watched as Batman stumbled back from the railing, the red figure now invisible under the thick substance. He did not leave immediately, staring at the floor as if in shock. Then slowly, Batman retreated from the scene, his steps cautious and unstable. When the door had clicked behind him, Clark turned to Bruce, unsure what to say.

Bruce’s eyes were still closed as he spoke.

“I thought I had killed a man that night,” Bruce said, obviously struggling. “I was horrified. I felt sick. In fact, I’m throwing up right now on the other side of that door. I’m about to stumble down the steps and out to the Batmobile, go back to the manor, and scream into the Batcave until my throat is raw.”

Clark swallowed thickly.

“Thought you had killed a man?” Clark said.

Bruce winced, and nodded. “Just watch the basin.”

Clark returned his gaze to the liquid, trying to process what he had just witnessed. He felt a mixture of things; confusion, worry,  _ fear _ …

The surface of the liquid began to bubble more rapidly, until a paper-white hand clawed its way to visibility. Another emerged seconds later, reaching and paddling until finally the hands found a ledge in the metal on the far side of the basin. The whitened fingertips gripped hard as the surface of the water bubbled more intensely. Moments passed before, finally, Clark saw a shock of bright green hair emerge from what he now recognized as an experimental A.C.E. chemical. 

Clark couldn’t help but gasp as the rest of Joker’s body was pulled from the liquid, scaling the thin ledge and pulling itself up over the edge of the basin. With a thick splatting noise, the Joker’s bare feet hit the floor of the chemical plant, his clothing torn as if half-eaten by acid, and dripping onto the floor. The man coughed loudly, expelling liquid from his lungs as his hacking morphed into a twisted laugh. He stood there for several minutes, cackling, the shrill of his voice sending chills down Clark’s spine.

Clark felt Bruce’s arms raise behind him, and turned to see his clenched face and covered ears. The laughing faded eventually, as the Joker made his way out of the plant. Bruce relaxed his arms, but Clark could still hear his heart pounding unnaturally in his chest. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“It was me,” Bruce said. “I created the Joker. I pushed a man who didn’t deserve to be pushed. I delivered the blow that sent him over the edge, both literally and metaphorically. The chemicals… they bleached his skin, coloured his hair and his lips, and drove him insane. I made him a monster.”

Clark was unsure what to say, so instead, asked a question that had been eating him.

“Why was he dressed like that?” 

Bruce finally opened his eyes.

“Red Hood,” he said. “He was dressed as the Red Hood, a sort of mascot for a criminal organization. I was pursuing him that night, because I thought he was the leader. I thought he had planned some sort of robbery, but as it turns out, all he wanted was money to support his pregnant wife.”

“Joker had a wife,” Clark said in disbelief. 

“Apparently,” Bruce said, “Although if you asked him now, he’d deny it entirely. He prefers not to have a definitive story; part of the insanity, I guess. But his name was Jack Napier, and Napier had a wife who was killed, along with their unborn child, in a freak accident just before this happened. He wanted to back out, but the gang wouldn’t let him. I chased after a man who got caught up with the wrong people, a man who was grieving his wife, and I turned him into a murderer.”

It was a lot for Clark to absorb, but through the confusion and the disbelief, one thing stood out in his mind.

“It was  _ not _ your fault,” he said, firmly. Bruce had covered his eyes with his hands, leaning heavily against the concrete. Clark took his wrists and pulled them away from Bruce’s face. He leaned his forehead against the other man’s, closing his eyes and pressing their lips together.

“This…” he said, gesturing to the open area of the plant. “This was an accident, Bruce. You couldn’t have known his history, and you were only trying to stop a criminal. He had a foot on the railing. He would have jumped even if you hadn’t hit him. He was scared of getting caught. Even without his wife’s death, he knew what he was getting into. This was  _ not _ your fault, and does  _ not  _ change a single thing about the way I feel for you.”

Bruce nodded feebly, sighing.

“You, the epitome of justice and truth, telling me that it wasn’t my fault, that I did nothing wrong and that you still love me, should comfort me.”

“But it doesn’t,” Clark said.

“Not entirely. If I’m being honest, I came to this spot half expecting you to change your mind about me, expecting you to pity me after you discovered that I inadvertently created my own worst enemy, a man who has murdered men, women, and children because he thinks it’s  _ fun _ .”

Bruce grimaced at the last word.

“But you don’t, and of course I’m relieved. In fact, telling someone alone takes a huge weight off of my chest. It Isn't a burden I have to carry entirely alone. But, none of this erases the fact that without me, the Joker wouldn’t exist. That’s the hardest part, accident or not.”

Clark nodded. “I understand.”

“If I had died that night,” Bruce said. “If I had died the night my parents did, so many other people would be alive. Jack Napier would be alive, and his wife and child might be too. Everyone he’s killed in his manic pursuit of my attention would be alive.”

“But if you had died,” Clark said. “So many  _ other  _ people would be dead.”

He looked away from Bruce for a second, and took a step away.

“As heroes,” Clark continued. “It’s easy to become hung up on every single loss we face, and in that, it’s easy to forget about all of the lives that we’ve saved.”

“I haven’t saved as many as you,” Bruce said. “And the Joker has killed so many more than Lex ever has.”

“It’s not a competition, my love,” Clark said, returning to Bruce and laying his palm across Bruce’s cheek. “It’s not about that at all. You have saved so many lives. There are so many people who wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you…”

He pressed his forehead back to Bruce’s and took a deep breath.

“Including me.”

Bruce’s grip tightened on Clark’s arms. Clark reached into Bruce’s pocket for him and grabbed the extrapolator.

“It’s creepy here, can we go somewhere else?” Clark asked.

Bruce nodded. Before they entered the portal, Clark turned to him and said:

“I love you, Bruce, and like I said,  _ nothing _ will change that.”

And Bruce replied:

I love you too, Clark.”

They stepped through.

~

The next place they landed was easy to blend in. Clark and Bruce turned the corner and joined a crowd that was drifting into a large striped tent.

“The circus,” Clark said, turning to Bruce. Bruce nodded and took Clark by the arm.

“It’s time you meet my son,” Bruce said.

The tent was huge. Rows upon rows of seating lined the edges, waiting to be occupied by the hundreds of spectators filing in. There was a large open arena in the centre of the tent, a sand-lined pit with several props in the middle for the upcoming performance. Clark looked up and saw several trapeze lines, and noticed that Bruce was staring at them.

“Be prepared,” Bruce said, solemnly. “This isn’t going to be the type of show you’re accustomed to viewing at a circus.”

The lights dimmed minutes later, and Clark smirked as a younger Bruce was thanked for sponsoring the evening and proceeded to spill his popcorn and drink all over the people in the next row.

“That was a show,” Bruce hissed at him, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “I did that on purpose. Brucie is supposed to be ditzy.”

“I know,” Clark said. “But it doesn’t make it less ridiculous.”

When the ringleader came out and announced the first act--The Flying Graysons--Clark felt Bruce tense next to him. 

Minutes later, as John and Mary Grayson fell from the trapeze, Clark understood why he was brought here.

They watched in silence as the same Bruce Wayne that had clumsily dumped his snacks all over other spectators spoke with Commissioner Gordon. Watched as he wrapped up his new ward in his arms and carried him to Alfred and the waiting car.

“Richard Grayson,” Bruce said. “My ward, turned adopted son…”

“Turned partner in crime-stopping,” Clark finished. It all made sense. “Robin.”

“Robin,” Bruce said, a wave of sadness crashing over him. “He changed my life. Alfred’s too. Dick became my best friend. He was the first person outside of the family who knew who I was; who knew both sides of me, and who knew that Brucie was a facade. He had grown up with the circus, and already had an extensive skill set at the age of 12. His aerialist background made him agile, his flexibility nimble, and his trauma easy to train. He was compassionate and trustworthy. I have loved very few people wholeheartedly in my life, and Dick was one of them. I am proud to call him my son.”

Clark held Bruce’s hand.

“The next place we go,” Bruce said, swallowing thickly. “The next place we go is going to be the hardest for me. I need you to know that beforehand. I’ve relived this moment thousands of times in my head, but I haven’t had the strength to go back since Barry gave me the extrapolator. I need you to be with me, next to me, and to give me strength. And I’ll say this now, please don’t expect me to say anything. I know already that I won’t be able to.”

Clark nodded, uncomfortable. 

“We don’t have to-”

“This one isn’t for you, Clark,” Bruce said. “It’s for me. It’s hard, but I need to do this. I need to share this with you, because it alone will help you understand me a lot better.”

Bruce squeezed his hand and clicked the extrapolator. 

~

They were in another alley in Gotham, but Clark knew it wasn’t Crime Alley. There was nobody in sight, and at first Clark was very confused. Bruce immediately leaned up against the wall, and Clark could see that he was trying desperately to regulate his breathing. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving and heart pounding. 

“Just watch,” Bruce whispered. “Don’t worry about me.”

Tires screeched somewhere around the corner. Clark peered out of the alley and saw a flashy pink car speeding towards them. 

What was most alarming about the scene was the caped figure  _ standing _ on top of the car. Clark focused on him, and quickly deduced that it wasn’t Batman. It was Robin, and Batman was nowhere in sight.

Dick was unsteady, logically, considering the speed that the car was travelling. Suddenly, the driver slammed on the breaks, the car spinning wildly out of control. Dick was thrown from the top of the car and landed heavily on the concrete near them. Clark could hear several of his bones crack, and watched in shock as Robin stood and began making his way toward the car.

Joker stepped out of the driver’s seat, Harley Quinn following behind him laughing and squealing in delight.

“Oh puddin!” She yelled. “You threw him off of the car! Guess the Robin really can fly!”

“Harley!” Joker dragged, his voice maniacally high. “He’s coming back for more! While we’ve got old Batsy distracted with our old friend  _ Bane _ , I say we take out his _ little birdie _ .”

Clark was holding his breath. Dick heard their banter, but didn’t back down or flee. He kept walking toward them, despite the cracks in his ribs and collarbone.

There was a loud click as Joker cocked a large rifle, raising it hastily and pointing it directly at Robin’s scull. The gun fired, but Dick was swift. He dropped to the ground in a plank, lowering his body to the ground then pushing himself back up to his feet after the bullet had passed. It was a fluid motion, and Clark recognized the agility that Bruce had described.

Joker fired the gun a few more times, Robin evading each bullet, until finally he passed the gun to Harley and approached Dick apparently weaponless. They engaged in hand-to-hand combat, and despite his injuries, Dick maintained the upperhand the entire time. He had pinned the Clown Prince of Crime to the ground when Harley approached him from the side, pressing the barrel of the gun into Dick’s temple.

Dick raised his hands away from Joker’s body and stood slowly. Clark could see a visible tremble in Harley’s hand, and recognized that Dick had seen it too. The young hero approached her cautiously. 

Clark saw what was going to happen before it actually did. While Dick was preoccupied with trying to pry the shotgun from Harley’s hands, Joker had pulled a smaller, quieter handgun from his coat and clambered to his feet. 

Dick was talking to Harley in a soothing voice. His hand was on the rifle when the handgun fired 3 bullets. 

One sunk into his lower back, one grazed his left hip, and the third penetrated his left shoulder, emerging right above his left pectoral. 

Clark wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but tears were flowing freely now. He could hear that Bruce was crying behind him too, but couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from Dick.

The bleeding was instantaneous, gushing over Robin’s costume and onto the concrete below. Dick lost consciousness immediately, his body falling limply to the ground. 

Harley was screaming, and the Joker was  _ laughing _ . 

They watched the fallen man as he bled out. Clark wanted nothing more than to run to Dick’s side, but Bruce had put his hand on his shoulder. Clark turned, the tears in his eyes spilling freely when he saw the pain on Bruce’s face. 

Clark didn’t know what was happening to Dick, what the maniacs who had murdered him were doing to his body, but he couldn’t look. 

For the first time in all the years he had known him, Bruce was  _ really _ crying. Violent sobs were shaking his body as he slid down the wall next to Clark, his hand over his mouth to muffle the noise that might give them away. His face was red, his chest heaving with panicked breaths as he struggled through the hardest moment in his life.

Clark wanted to hold him, wanted to whisper to him and comfort him, and wondered why in the  _ hell _ Bruce had insisted on bringing them back to see this, but Bruce shakily pointed back to where Dick’s body was, and Clark could no longer think straight.

Joker and Harley were still there, and Clark could tell by the sickening blue tinge in Dick’s skin that he was gone. Joker was holding a bottle of yellow spray paint, defacing the suit that Dick had worn so bravely.

_ HA HA HA JOKE’S ON YOU BATMAN _

Clark watched as the criminals returned to their damaged car, piled in and drove away from the scene, then watched in horrified silence as the Batmobile came squealing into its place. 

The car hadn’t even come to a stop when Batman was throwing himself out of it. His movements were not graceful, but panicked, falling to his shins as he hit the uneven concrete, scrambling towards the body of his deceased partner. His  _ son. _

“My son,” Bruce whispered behind him. “He killed my Robin.”

Clark could hear the other Bruce’s screams of agony as he laid over Dick’s still body. It wasn’t the anger that Clark had heard from Bruce before, it wasn’t like anything he had heard from anyone. Clark could tell that the man leaning over his bloodied son was beyond basic emotion. He was  _ broken _ . 

Clark sunk down to where Bruce was curled against the wall, unable to bear the scene before him. He didn’t ask for permission, but wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist, pulling him up onto his lap and cradling the other man to his chest. Bruce cried and Clark cried with him.

Nobody had been there for Robin or Batman that night, but Clark could be here for Bruce right now.

They stayed there while the police arrived. They stayed there while an ambulance came and paramedics carried Dick’s body away. They stayed there while Batman stumbled into another alley and was sick on the concrete, his body rejecting itself and the scene that he had just stumbled upon. They stayed long after everyone had gone, Alfred having collected a distraught Bruce and the police having left to try and find the Joker. Clark figured that it was hours they sat in the alley, Bruce falling apart in his lap at the loss of his son, and Clark falling apart with his own inability to help the man he loved.

Clark had had no idea that Bruce considered Robin anything more than a partner. To learn that he had loved him as a son, and had lost him to his worst enemy… it was too much for one man to handle, and yet Bruce was there crying in his lap.

The sun was rising when Bruce pulled the extrapolator out of his pocket. It was a wordless departure again when they finally left the alley behind. 

The tragedy they had witnessed, however...well, that wasn’t something you could ever leave behind.

The image of Dick’s body flashed through Clark’s mind as the portal opened.

~

Clark knew immediately that they were in Metropolis, specifically, Centennial Park. He could see the city skyline above him, the Daily Planet globe sticking out just over the tips of the trees. It was a sunny day, hardly a cloud in the sky to block the yellow rays.

Clark inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling his tired lungs. He swiped at his swollen eyes, trying to put aside the emotions that had taken over him in the alley.

Dick’s death explained a lot. It explained Bruce’s hesitation to work with others, Bruce’s struggle to let anyone in...he let someone in once, loved him like a son... and he had been murdered in cold blood. 

His Bruce stumbled over to a nearby bench, dropping onto it and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. The weather was warm today, whatever day it was, warm enough to place them mid summer.

Clark followed him, and sat on the bench as well. He said nothing as Bruce tipped his head onto Clark’s shoulder, a few stray tears dampening the fabric of his flannel. They sat in silence for another while, Clark recognizing that there was likely nothing he could say to make this moment feel any less painful for Bruce.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, eventually breaking the silence. He sat up and turned his attention to Clark.

Clark was taken aback.

“Don’t be  _ sorry _ , Bruce,” Clark said, honestly. “I had no idea what he meant to you in the first place, and especially had no idea what happened to him. I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t know what else to say, but that doesn’t even begin to help and I know it.”

Bruce reached up and pressed his hand to Clark’s cheek, a sad look on his face.

“You don’t have to say anything, Clark,” he murmured. “You’ve done more for me than I could have ever imagined.”

Bruce stood and pulled Clark to his feet. They began walking up the path that led out of the park and toward the Daily Planet. 

The park was busy and nobody really took notice of them as they strolled hand in hand. It was several minutes before either of them spoke.

“We should get off the path here,” Bruce said, gesturing to a small cluster of trees. “If we go through there, we’ll be able to see what I want to see, without being seen.”

As they walked over to their hiding spot, Bruce spoke about the aftermath of his son’s death.

“I was hurt and broken. I felt like a failure after that night. I had been distracted by an old enemy, and if I had just been there with him it maybe wouldn’t have happened. I stopped being Batman for a while, because after 6 years, I didn’t know how to be Batman without my Robin.”

Bruce swallowed thickly.

“I’ve never told anyone, but the whole first year after it happened, I wanted to die. I felt I didn’t deserve to live, and without Dick, felt I had nothing to live for.”

Bruce gestured to a nearby bench, just visible through the clearing.

“Then I met him,” he said, a faint smile forming on his sullen face.

Just then, a young man with loose black curls and full frame glasses approached the bench and sat down, pulling a notepad from his pocket and scribbling down a few words. He was dressed sharply in his signature flannel, tucked neatly into a pair of crisp grey dress pants. Clark used his vision to spy underneath his younger self’s shirt, and noticed that there was no El insignia.

“I forgot I interviewed you pre-Superman,” Clark whispered, grinning sheepishly. “I’m kind of surprised you remember.”

“I remember,” Bruce nodded, looking at the younger Clark. A man in his early-thirties was approaching the bench now. Once he reached it, he sank down next to the man in the glasses.

“Bruce Wayne,” he said, thrusting out a hand. Present day Clark could see his younger self instantly become flustered, taking Bruce’s hand awkwardly and shaking a little too hard.

“Kent Clark. I mean...Clark Kent,” he said, a deep blush rising on his cheeks. “Reporter, Daily Planet.”

Next to a chuckling Bruce, Clark was feeling second-hand embarrassment for his younger self. He dropped his head into his hands, hiding his blush from his partner.

“Adorable…” Bruce whispered, a charming smile on his face. Clark peeked through his fingers and met Bruce’s eyes.

“I remember this clearly now,” Clark said. “This was my first interview with a celebrity, and I was terrified that something was going to go wrong. We were in public, an odd request from a billionaire businessman, especially one who, admittedly, had a few enemies in Metropolis.”

“An odd fear for the infamous Man of Steel,” Bruce returned. “You could have saved us, no problem.”

“This was before Superman,” Clark said. “This was me, fresh out of my Masters in Journalism at MU and terrified that my conversation with the richest bachelor in Gotham would leave much to be desired. I was petrified you would think I was pathetic and decide you didn’t want to give an interview after all.”

Bruce scoffed. “Not even close.”

“Well, I was, what, in my late-twenties here?” Clark said. “I had done a few things to save some people, sure, but I hadn’t exactly debuted the cape yet. My father died to keep me from revealing my identity too early. I wasn’t ready to reveal it myself, but if someone tried to hurt me while I was interacting with a celebrity which, although unrealistic, could happen, and I somehow emerged unscathed while Bruce Wayne was reduced to a pulp? That would have been fishy, and my interview with you would have made the headlines for all the wrong reasons.”

“So you would have let me die?” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to Clark’s scarlet cheek, the younger man stammering.

“I’m just teasing you, Clark,” he smiled. “I was impressed by you during this interview actually, despite your adorably clumsy start. You were professional, and you asked questions that hadn’t been asked by every journalist I had ever encountered. You didn’t seem to care about my relationship status, or the latest woman I had taken home.”

He pointed back to where young Clark and Bruce were chatting.

“I also remember that you were charming as hell,” he said. “See? Already we’re chatting away, not stiff and organized, but casual and comfortable. I had no idea you would become Superman a few months later, and you, I presume, had no idea that I dressed up as a bat at night.”

Clark laughed.

“No, I definitely didn’t. That would have made me even more nervous. A handsome and charming celebrity who doubles as a sexy, mysterious hero of the night? I probably would have collapsed.”

“You think I’m sexy?” Bruce smiled, cheesily. Clark rolled his eyes.

“Of course I think you’re sexy, you moron. I wouldn’t take you to bed as often as I do if I didn’t. Now, seeing as you know I’m in love with you, I feel comfortable telling you that I remember wanting to take you to bed during this interview. I’m pretty sure you’re part of the reason I decided that I was definitely bisexual.”

Bruce was laughing now, his voice no longer dripping with sorrow. “Cheeky, Kent.”

Clark snaked his arm around Bruce’s waist and pulled the older man to him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s lips and smiled up at him. Bruce pulled him in for another longer kiss, their lips and tongues intertwined. 

They stayed locked together for a while, eventually breaking apart to watch as the interview ended and they shook hands. 

“I came damn close to asking you for coffee,” Bruce said, watching himself walk away. “But even rich guys get nervous. If I had known that our future selves were watching you interview me and making out hidden in the trees, I probably would have followed through.”

Clark playfully smacked Bruce’s shoulder and kissed him again. 

“Where next?” Clark smiled, goofily. 

~

“Stay down!” Superman yelled, as Clark and Bruce stumbled into a concrete block on the roof of a building. Looking around the corner, Clark could see Batman in his armored suit, laying at the edge of the building. “If I wanted it, you’d be dead already!”

“Why did you bring us here, Bruce?” Clark said, his expression now incredibly serious. “I don’t want to watch this.”

“This is one of the first times we interacted as Batman and Superman,” Bruce said. “I know it isn’t pleasant to relive, but I want us to talk about this. We never do.”

“What is there to talk about?” Clark asked. He looked ashamed, watching himself throw Batman around. “We didn’t talk then. You wouldn’t let me explain that my loved ones were in danger, and I resented you for it.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Bruce said. “And that’s why I brought you here. I want to show you that I know that now. Luthor pitted us against each other, planted information and fabricated scenarios to make us doubt the other’s reliability. I was foolish enough to believe him, and I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Bruce,” Clark said. “I’m not angry that you came after me. I understand where you were coming from. I believed Luthor just as much as you did.”

Bruce suddenly pulled off his sweater, wrapping it around Clark’s face and tying the sleeves behind his head. Clark was very confused, until he watched the Kryptonite grenade explode in his past self’s face. Bruce was very quiet when he spoke.

“The first time I saw the effects of Green K on you, when I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was horrified. I thought it weakened you, I didn’t know how much physical pain it caused you.”

Clark nodded.

“How could you?” He said, his voice muffled by the sweater filtering the thin remnants of smoke that threatened to pierce his body. They were far enough away that the cover was highly unnecessary, but Clark didn’t remove it. He could tell it made Bruce feel better. “You couldn’t possibly have known. It was public knowledge that Kryptonite is my weakness, but nobody ever published that being in proximity of it essentially sets my body on fire.”

Bruce grimaced, and Clark placed a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t know, and like I said, I have no negative feelings about this whole situation.”

They watched in horror as Batman and Superman began fighting more aggressively, Batman gaining the upper hand on a Kryptonite weakened Clark. 

“But I didn’t bother to learn,” Bruce said, visibly ashamed of his past actions. “I’m sorry, Clark. I’m so sorry for hurting you like that.”

Clark reached into Bruce's pocket and clicked the switch on the extrapolator.

“Can we just go?” he asked.

Bruce nodded. “But you probably won’t like the next place either.”

~

They were back in Centennial Park, but this time, there was no greenery. No bright sun, no warmth on Clark’s skin. The air was thick, and the Bruce standing next to him was hard and cold. Bruce took his sweater back, hiding himself from the dust and grime.

Clark looked around at the destruction. Over a few large rocks he could see Doomsday’s corpse, and in the fallen monster’s hand, he could see his body. His  _ dead _ body.

“The second hardest moment in my life,” Bruce croaked, his eyes welling with tears again. “Second to Dick only because now I know that you come back.”

“Bruce…”

“Don’t…” Bruce said, firmly. “I know you don’t want to see it, but I do. And I want to tell you about what I was feeling at that moment.”

Batman came up over the rock to where Clark’s body was lying. Clark could see the gaping wound in his chest for the first time. No photos were taken, and Clark’s regenerated body was fully healed, so he had no idea what he had looked like in the aftermath of their fight with Doomsday.

“My mind is racing over there,” Bruce said. “I’m thinking about what went wrong, thinking about what I should have done differently so that I could have been the one who put the spear through Doomsday’s chest. I couldn’t possibly answer all of the questions that were running through my mind, but they were there anyway. I was thinking about our fight on the roof, about all of the ways that Lex had set us up to hate each other, and I was kicking myself for how stupid I was to believe him. I was wondering how I possibly could have looked at you and thought you were dangerous.”

Bruce leaned into Clark’s side.

“This man, this impossibly human alien with the purest heart in the world, the best of this planet, wrapped into one being and I called him a  _ threat _ .”

Batman knelt next to Superman’s body, laying his arms tenderly across his chest.

“Now? I’m thinking about how handsome you are. I’m folding your arms over your chest realizing that I was the one responsible for killing this beautiful being. I’m feeling all of my hope draining from my heart, and realizing that the world will feel the same as I do when they learn that you’re gone.”

Batman gently wrapped his arms around Superman’s torso, pulling him lightly off the ground. It was barely noticeable, but as Bruce pointed it out, Clark could see that he momentarily brought Clark to his chest.

“And you can’t see it,” Bruce continued. “But I’m holding back tears under the suit. I didn’t know how to feel because I hardly actually knew you...but I remembered that interview. I remembered your smile and your charm, and the way you and I had been able to talk so effortlessly to each other.... I remembered how I had never in my life felt that with anyone, and realized just how blinded I had been by my own irrational fear. And here you were, lying dead in my arms, and I had never had the chance to even be friends with you, much less explore the possibility of anything else.”

Batman had handed Clark’s body down to Diana, who passed him along to Lois.

“She loved you, Clark,” Bruce said. “At least she did then. She was gracious to me, somehow, and didn’t blame me despite...everything.”

“I don’t blame you,” Clark said, quietly, watching as Lois cradled his body, crying into his lifeless cheek. “I’ve never blamed you. You weakened me with the Kryptonite, yes, but Doomsday could have and would have stabbed me whether or not we had fought. And I would have let him, because it was worth the sacrifice.”

_ “No, _ ” Bruce said, choking on his words. “It wasn’t. The moment you died, I realized that. I just wish I had seen it sooner. The world needed you, and I let him take you away.”

Bruce turned his face and pressed his nose into Clark’s shoulder. He inhaled, relishing in the scent of Clark’s flannel.

“Later, when we were deciding whether or not to resurrect you, Alfred and I had a conversation about whether it was justified. I said the world needed Superman, and the team needed Clark.”

“Let me guess,” Clark said, watching his body being pulled away from the scene. “Alfred told you not to do it.”

“What does Clark need?” Bruce said, imitating Alfred. “Maybe he’s at peace. I told him you’d get over it.”

“I did,” Clark said. “I’m grateful you brought me back.”

“Me too,” Bruce said, pulling out the extrapolator. “The truth is...the world needed you, and the team did too... but  _ so did I _ .”

~

They stepped out into Centennial Park  _ again _ , but this time in front of a large monument. At this point, the park had been renamed Heroes Park, to commemorate the day that Superman sacrificed himself. 

Clark and Bruce made their way to a bench near the edge of the park, a clear view of Clark’s memorial. 

“What are we doing here again?” Clark asked.

“Wait for it,” Bruce said. Clark waited.

Suddenly, there was a loud cracking noise from behind them. Clark turned, but Bruce did not flinch. He kept his eyes on the monument.

Moments later, a newly resurrected Superman touched down in front of the monument.

“Oh,” Clark said. “I see.”

Wonder Woman, Cyborg, Aquaman, and Flash were not far behind, lining up at the bottom of the steps. They stared at Superman, tense, afraid…

“I didn’t mean to scare everyone or hurt  _ anyone _ ,” Clark said, softly. “I didn’t know who I was, what had happened… I don’t remember any of this…”

“They knew that,” Bruce said. “None of them ever thought for a second that your attacks against them had meaning. They knew you were confused. Diana predicted that.”

“Why weren’t you there?” Clark asked, wincing as his former self knocked Flash into a marble pillar. “Why didn’t you join that line up? You would have grounded me. I knew you.”

“You don’t remember this part either,” Bruce stated. The Batmobile pulled up into the clearing, and Bruce stepped out of it and called for Clark.

“You did come,” Clark said. He watched as Superman stepped toward him. “It was you who brought me back.”

“I know you,” Superman said, turning his attention away from Barry and towards Batman.

Wonder Woman stepped in front of Superman as he moved to Batman.

“Why…?”

“Just watch.”

They fought, Superman overcoming her. Clark watched in horror as his former self flew immediately to Bruce and back handed him, sending him flying over 20 feet and into a police car. 

“Bruce!” Clark almost yelled, but the Bruce next to him held his arm.

“I’m fine, Clark, I’m right here,” he said. 

“No, I…” Clark’s horror deepened as Superman lifted Batman by the jaw, snarling in his face. 

“The world needs you,” Batman was gasping.

“But it doesn’t need you,” Superman said, tightening his grip on Batman’s neck.

Clark was spluttering. “I...how…”

“You didn’t know who you were, probably didn’t remember how you died,” Bruce said, solemnly. “The last thing you remembered, for all we knew, could have been me standing above you with that Kryptonite spear.”

“But you didn’t kill me,” Clark said. He was emotional, horrified by the way he had treated his partner. Lois had arrived at that point, and Clark watched as he literally  _ tossed _ Bruce aside to go to her, like Batman was some sort of rag doll. “How did you forgive me for this?”

“How did you forgive me for trying to kill you?” Bruce asked.

Clark stared at him. Neither of them noticed Superman fly away with Lois. Clark had, however, noticed Batman’s body lying almost completely still.

“You didn’t kill me,” Clark whispered. “You didn’t.”

“And  _ you _ didn’t do this to any of us,” Bruce said back, placing one hand on each of Clark’s cheeks. He met Clark’s shining eyes. “This fight was between us and a scared, confused, and angry Kryptonian, who had every right to feel all of the emotions he was feeling. Not to mention, I’m sure your senses were completely overwhelmed, which would have added a whole other confusing layer to the situation. Nobody blames you. There was nothing for me to forgive.”

“I could have killed you, Bruce,” Clark said, tears spilling silently from his eyes. 

“And I still wouldn’t have blamed you,” Bruce said, pressing a kiss to Clark’s forehead. “You said it yourself, the world doesn’t need me. It  _ needs you. _ ”

“ _ I need you _ ,” Clark sobbed. “What if I had killed you, Bruce? I could have and you say it wouldn’t have mattered, but I never would have been able to forgive myself because it would have mattered to  _ me _ that you weren’t there anymore!”

Bruce wrapped his arms tightly around Clark, a gentle hand running through the hair on the back of his head. 

“ _ I need you, Bruce, I need you… _ ” Clark was sobbing into Bruce’s shoulder. This was the hardest Bruce had ever seen him cry. 

“I'm here, Clark,” Bruce said, softly. “I’m here and it’s fine.” 

“ _ I don’t want you to die, Bruce, _ ” Clark sobbed. “ _ I’m so sorry…” _

“Stop, Clark, sweetheart,” Bruce said. “Don’t do this to yourself. I’m here, I’m fine, and I love you more than anything in the world. And I don’t have any plans to go anywhere soon. I brought you here because despite the fact that you unintentionally beat the shit out of me, it was the best day of my life. You came  _ back _ .”

Clark stayed wrapped up in Bruce’s arms for a little while, until his sobs turned to hiccups, and then ceased. Bruce pulled out the silver ball, and carried Clark through the portal.

~

“This is the last place,” Bruce said, setting Clark down gently. He pushed open a large gray door, and gestured for Clark to go in ahead of him. “Do you remember it?”

Clark walked through and looked around. It was a nightclub; blue fluorescent lights lined the walls, and a large glowing ice sculpture stood in the center of the room. They were surrounded by people dancing and drinking. Clark noticed that everyone’s drinks seemed to be glowing too.

“Of course I remember it,” Clark said. “The Iceberg Lounge.”

Bruce nodded, as Clark scanned the room.

“Those two over there,” he pointed. “The league is about to come in and bust them for arms trafficking.”

Bruce nodded again, just as the front doors were kicked open.

Cyborg entered first, his right arm extended in defense. Superman and Batman were right behind him, followed closely by Wonder Woman and Aquaman. Flash ran in as soon as everyone was through the door and immediately to where the two men were standing. In seconds, he had them cuffed, their weapons taken from them and given to Diana.

The room went quiet, the sea of dancers parting as the Justice League made their way toward Barry.

“I remember looking through the front wall, telling Barry where they were,” Clark whispered. “And I also remember that our feathered friend is about to come out of that door and try to  _ shoot you _ .”

He pointed at another gray door across the room from where, moments later, The Penguin emerged. He was yielding a large weapon, the likes of which they had never seen before. He pulled the trigger, and Superman immediately dove in front of Batman.

“You had no idea what that was,” Bruce whispered back. “In retrospect, it was damn foolish of you to jump in front of that bullet. It could have been Kryptonite. If I hadn’t had an epiphany at this exact moment…” He gestured toward Batman and Superman, who were staring at each other intently. “...I probably would have kicked your ass later for that.”

“Yeah it may have been Kryptonite, but that was a slim chance and the only thing that could have hurt me…” Clark defended. “You on the other hand, are vulnerable to all types of bullets.”

Bruce snorted, but Clark continued.

“Also, epiphany? What epiphany?”

“That,” Bruce whispered behind him, the two of them watching as Superman flashed Batman a radiant smile. “Was the moment I realized all at once that I was completely and hopelessly in love with you.”

“Really?” Clark said. “Because I saved you?”

“Well yes, but not entirely… I think it was mostly because of that smile. You saved me, and when you realized you had, you smiled that damn smile. My chest and face flushed. My lungs tightened and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was an emotion I hadn’t truly felt since my parents’ death. I was overcome with fondness for you.”

Clark’s eyes were shining as he looked up at Bruce. “I was already in love with you,” he said. “That’s why I jumped in front of that bullet. I didn’t care if it was Kryptonite, if it was going to be you or me, I was going to make sure it was me.”

Clark flashed that grin at Bruce, and he smiled back.

“That feeling…” Bruce said. “It washes over me all over again every single time I see you smile; every time I touch you and when you touch me...when we watch movies, me in your arms or you in mine; when we patrol together, and when you let me steal you away from the Planet for lunch... when we’re in bed together, just sleeping or when we fool around, and every single time you tell me that you love me. I’m overcome with love for you all day every day, and it’s so out of character for me I can’t even describe it…”

“That’s...so incredibly sweet, Bruce,” Clark said, his eyes wide. “I realized I loved you one day while you were eating a sandwich. It’s much less romantic.”

Bruce laughed heartily and pulled Clark into his arms. They just held each other for a few minutes, watching Cyborg and Aquaman take down The Penguin while Batman ensured Superman was uninjured, and Flash and Wonder Woman escorted the arms dealers out of the club.

“Ready to go home?” Bruce asked, when they had evacuated the building with the rest of the patrons. Clark pulled away.

“Can we go to one more place?” He asked. Bruce nodded, and handed him the extrapolator. 

“I’ve dragged you all over my life, I suppose you can have a turn.” Bruce joked, then instructed Clark on how to program the device. “Though if we get stuck, Barry won’t know…”

“I trust it at this point,” Clark said, dramatically scowling at Bruce. He clicked the button.

~

They were in the Fortress of Solitude, but it did not appear that any other versions of themselves were there.

“When is this?” Bruce asked, looking around. “It looks the same as it did last week.”

“That’s because it’s yesterday,” Clark smiled. “I wanted to go somewhere I knew that nobody would be.”

Bruce smiled and comically wiggled his eyebrows. “Anything in mind?” He joked.

“Yeah,” Clark said, stepping toward him and taking his hands. “I want to marry you.”

Bruce was taken aback this time, his eyebrows furrowed, clearly unsure of what to say.

“I mean...not like...this instant,” Clark said, rubbing his hand on his neck awkwardly. “But some day. I love you, Bruce Wayne, and I want to show the world that you’re mine forever.”

Bruce’s frown slowly melted into an exasperated smile.

“You bastard, Kent,” he joked, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the extrapolator, but this time let it drop to the floor. He reached into his pocket again, and pulled out a small black box.

“You beat me to it,” he whispered. He dropped to one knee in front of Clark, opening the box to reveal an elegantly simple black ring.

Clark’s hand flew to his mouth. He had been the first to bring it up, and yet Clark was completely dumbfounded.

“Bruce...I….”

“C’mon, Clark,” Bruce said. “You just said you wanted to marry me. If you mean it, say yes and I’m yours forever.”

He took a deep breath.

“Clark Joseph Kent, Kal-El of Krypton, Superman, the absolute love of my life,” Bruce said. Clark’s eyes were beginning to fill with tears. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Clark said, firmly. “Absolutely.”

They embraced, sharing a firm kiss and laughter. Bruce removed the ring from the box and slid it onto Clark’s finger. 

Bruce bent over and grabbed the extrapolator, setting it to exactly 15 seconds after they had originally departed.

It clicked and a portal opened. Bruce reached for his fiance’s hand, and together they stepped through.

~

“Alfred?” Clark called, the moment they had reentered the manor. “Alfred, where are you?”

Bruce chuckled to himself, certain that Clark was already eager to show off the ring. Bruce walked over to where he had left his cell phone before they left, picking it up and shooting a text to Barry that they had returned. Then he sent a message to the League, asking if they were all available to meet at the Hall, as Clark and he had an important announcement.

The League had figured out that they were dating, but Bruce hadn’t told a single soul about the ring. It was a plan he concocted entirely on his own, and though there had evidently been several difficult moments for both of them throughout the journey they had been on, they faced them and overcame them together.

Bruce thought that it had been pretty good practice for the rest of their lives, and it truly did help him open up to Clark. It was easier to talk about things when he had the accompanying visual. 

He re-pocketed the extrapolator, smiling to himself. He hoped that Barry would let him keep it for a little while. It might come in handy.

Bruce could hear Clark laughing loudly and happily, the sound sending the wave of love that Bruce had described to Clark crashing over his chest and filling him to the brim with pure joy, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Congratulations Bruce!” Alfred yelled, walking into the sitting room with Clark. The butler was beaming. “Finally! You’ve found yourself in love.”

“I have, Alfred,” Bruce said, smiling at Clark and pulling him in for a kiss. “I really have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome. Thanks for stopping by!


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